Don’t worry, this isn’t a parable about overcoming obstacles along the air-conditioned, controlled environment of an indoor rock-climbing wall. I’m not going to wax in a philosophical direction about lessons we can learn about adversity and determination while feeling for the next handhold. I wouldn’t do that to you.
No, I’m going to talk about why we focus on the things we choose to focus on.
I had the recent pleasure of touring three universities in three days. Because of my job I try to stay current in higher education trends, so I’ve been aware, on an intellectual level, that universities, since probably the turn of the century, have marketed themselves at least partially on amenities that, decades earlier, one would not have linked to higher education: free weights, lazy rivers, and, yes, the all-too-omnipresent rock-climbing wall.
I hear an echo of my work on the history of casinos here. Casinos in the same jurisdiction all offer pretty much the same games, so they need to find other ways to differentiate themselves (offering players good odds, excellent customer service, and non-airport prices is, apparently, too much to ask). So in the classic years of the Las Vegas Strip, casinos dueled over who had the largest swimming pool, the tallest neon sign, the most sequin-packed stage revue. I can appreciate that calculus at Penn State and calculus at Sonoma State are going to be the same numbers, so I can understand why universities use things like rock-climbing walls to stand out. Similar problem, similar solution, fewer sequins.
There’s just one problem. Everyone, it seems, has a rock-climbing wall.
Which I guess means that if you don’t have a rock-climbing wall, prospective students and their families will think you’re second-rate. So, everyone needs a rock-climbing wall that you aggressively market, just to prove that you are as good as everyone else, even if no one is actually using the wall when the tour comes through.
Seriously, I’m thinking about the things that each of these three universities pointed out on their tours, and I’m still at something of a loss. Let’s break them down:
Residence hall: I get it—you need to know where you’re going to sleep.
Meal plan: ditto, because you’ve got to eat.
Blue light beacons: of course families are going to be concerned about safety, and it makes sense to highlight that.
Gym: here I’m a little confused. We should know what a gym looks like. They’ve all got machines, weights, and, yes, the…
Rock-climbing wall: this is the keystone of the tour. No one’s ever on it, but it’s just the idea—if your kid wanted to, they could be scaling this bad boy right now…if you commit.
Not like I have anything against rock-climbing walls, but I don’t see it as a showstopper. How about a classroom or maybe a lab? Or someplace where we can see that better-than-everyone-else-to-one faculty/student ratio?
All this got me pondering why the rock-climbing wall is the piece de resistance of the 2025 edition of the college tour. Does anyone really go from admit to commit based on the gym? I would imagine not, but I’ve been wrong. And yet the rock-climbing wall isn’t new, and it is still the centerpiece. It must, I think, represent the tip of an iceberg that is of deep significance to prospective students and their families. I am still grappling with just what that would be—social opportunities? Extra-curriculars? Health? Hobbies that don’t involve self-destructive indulgence? Some sort of wholesome adventure?
I can’t think of anything definitive here, so I’m just contenting myself with the thought that a wiser mind somewhere has solved this case.
But after seeing the third rock-climbing wall in as many days (and having a solid visual image of the rock-climbing wall in UNLV’s Student Recreation and Wellness Center fixed in my mind, so there’s at least four of them), I started pondering on what our own rock-climbing walls might be.
At this point the rock-climbing wall is no longer an actual vertical athletic terrain but the symbol of something that you are, perhaps, inordinately proud of and disproportionately likely to brag about to friends old and new, and the occasional attentive stranger. That thing that you can’t help but bring up in conversation—and trust me, it’s any conversation—no matter what the context.
Think about it: what’s your rock-climbing wall?
Because self-reflection can be painful, it might be easier to see the rock-climbing walls that others feature as part of their tour. You know, that friend of a friend who constantly reminds you that they went to school “in Boston.” Or that they grew up in Manhattan. Or that they followed a band whose music you’ve enjoyed when the bass player was still in utero, so they are clearly more of a real fan than you or anyone else could possibly hope to be.
I can think of one major rock-climbing wall I currently don’t stop talking about when given the mildest provocation (not going to share it here but if you know me it won’t take you too many guesses). And I’ll tell you why I do it: because it’s something relatively new to me that I’m really excited about, and I don’t care how tedious it might be to others when I’m in the full flush of my enthusiasm—this is fun to share.
I’m thinking that rock-climbing walls might be an icebreaker that could really make some ice cubes out of glacial nervous silences: instead of prompts that tiptoe around the humble brag, just ask everyone to show us their metaphorical rock-climbing wall, that one thing that you think sums up everything you want people to know about you.
Just thinking about a magnificent icebreaker fail I once had. We were supposed to share a recent accomplishment, and while others were talking about Napa Valley wine-tasting tours and other similarly urbane pursuits, I cut in with, “I 100%ed Cuphead!” I think one other person appreciated the time and commitment I put in to notch that achievement. There was a lot of awkward silence in that Zoom room. I wish I could have talked a little about the game and what it meant to me—appreciating the art, playing alongside my kids. We might have understood each other better.
What I’m trying to say is that, when you’ve seen your third rock-climbing wall in as many days, it’s a bit tiring, but when everyone you meet has something different and personal and new to tell you about, it isn’t. It’s the start of a connection.
If there’s any admissions officers reading this, feel free to tweak your tour script. Instead of plopping us in front of another climberless rock-climbing wall, let us see something that really does excite you, that really might tell us who you and your institution are.
So until next time, expect the unexpected, stay informed, and I’ll stay informal.
30
